


Stardust in my Eyes

by Starshining



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And Ernie Macmillan, And Michael Corner, Auror Ron, Drarry, F/M, Harry is Confused, Hermione knows, I've been out of the game a long time, M/M, Maybe a Millicent Bulstrode, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Neville is here somewhere too, Not-an-Auror Harry, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, but mumther i crave writing, i'm back on my bullshit, is drarry still a big thing?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:41:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28381098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starshining/pseuds/Starshining
Summary: An 8th year fic!
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. Drawn to You

**Author's Note:**

> Please bear with me - I haven't read the books or even seen the movies for many years now. I read two fics last night on a whim and was inspired to write my own again. Something happened in the canon that I directly contradict? In the words of Homer Simpson, "A wizard did it".
> 
> The pacing might also be a bit funny - I literally haven't written since my last stories (which you can see in my profile was a LONG time ago). Be gentle!

Gnawing on his quill, Harry wondered why he was back at Hogwarts. He’d defeated the Dark Lord, for god’s sake – why was he here listening to Professor Binns drone on and on and _on_ about… what was he droning on about?

Well, Harry knew why he was here. The thought of being an Auror had made him feel empty inside. He was tired beyond belief, but he hadn’t the slightest clue what he wanted to do otherwise. So, like a handful of others, he returned to Hogwarts to do his 7th year over again and complete his N.E.W.T.s.

Harry sighed softly, and Hermione jabbed her elbow into his side. Harry turned to glare at her, but she wasn’t even looking at him.

“Stop staring at Malfoy,” she hissed quietly.

“I wasn’t!” Harry insisted. “I was—”

“You were, now hush. I’m not letting you copy my notes, so you better finish yours,” Hermione said, her quill scratching away as she spoke.

Harry returned his focus to his parchment. He’d barely written a sentence before he’d trailed off into scribbles. There was a stickman portrait of Binns tucked away in the corner, and a poorly drawn snitch trailed lazily around the page.

“Now come on, ‘Mione, you wouldn’t do that to me.”

Hermione’s quill paused as she turned to Harry with a raised brow. “You’re sure?”

Harry was suddenly not sure. Hermione turned back to her parchment and resumed taking notes.

“Yes, that’s what I thought. You need to take this seriously if you want to get a job that isn’t blasting dark wizards,” Hermione said. “Just because you _can_ get whatever job you want by being Harry Potter doesn’t mean you _should_.”

Harry stuck his tongue out at the side of Hermione’s head and tried to focus on Binns.

It was true that he could have whatever job he wanted just by being him. But he didn’t want that. He was sick of that. Despite it all, he was still just Harry, and he was back at Hogwarts to decide what he wanted to do instead of what Harry Potter was _expected_ to do.

Malfoy was back too, along with that Parkinson girl. Malfoy was here because Harry had testified at his trial, ultimately obtaining a pardon for the blond. Harry wasn’t sure why he’d done it. Maybe it was to pay back his debt to Narcissa Malfoy, who’d saved Harry in the forest. That’s what he told his friends, at least. Ron had called him a daft bastard and Hermione had frowned softly, but they didn’t try to stop him.

Parkinson didn’t have a trial, but if she did Harry would’ve testified for her too. She’d sent letters after the war, apologising for how she’d acted during her school years. Harry wasn’t sure he really believed it was anything other than an attempt to save face in the wake of Voldemort’s defeat, but it didn’t really matter to him anyway. She was back at Hogwarts and spent most of her time glued to Malfoy’s side.

Malfoy. He looked as bored as Harry felt, but his quill scrawled dutifully across his parchment. Every now and again he’d tuck his hair behind his ear, spreading a tiny spot of ink a little further across his cheek every time. The dark ink made his pale skin seem even paler.

Ever since they’d returned, Harry couldn’t help but watch Malfoy. He couldn’t explain why. If Malfoy was in the room Harry would inexplicably find his eyes drawn to him eventually. There was something of a buzz behind his navel, curiosity no doubt, that intensified when he looked at Malfoy.

“Are you ready?”

Harry blinked, refocusing his vision on Hermione who now stood in front of him. She’d softened after the war, no longer frail and ashen, and had become a little less serious. Only a little, though.

“Class ended five minutes ago, Harry,” Hermione said, clucking her tongue at him. “Come on, we said we’d call Ron right after class.”

Harry shoved his things haphazardly into his bag and stood. He glanced around the room, but everyone had already left, including Malfoy. His stomach softly gnawed at him, and he resolved to check the map for Malfoy’s footprints later. Just to check in, of course.

Hermione linked her arm through his and dragged him from the classroom up toward the ‘8th years’ tower. It had been decades since the tower was last used, but the house elves had cleaned and cozied it up so thoroughly you couldn’t tell. The common room featured an eclectic mix of furniture styled after each house and a fireplace so large Harry was sure they could all huddle around it and have room for more, were they on friendly enough terms to do so.

Hermione dropped her bag with a loud _thud_ beside a bright blue armchair that faced the fireplace, falling into it with a noticeably softer _thud_ than her bag had made. Harry had no idea how she carried that bag everywhere. After dropping his own bag, Harry leant his elbows on the back of the blue chair and twirled his fingers through Hermione’s hair mindlessly.

In moments, the fireplace roared to life and Ron’s face blazed into existence. Even fire couldn’t capture the vibrant orange of Ron’s hair quite right.

“You guys would not believe what happened! Blimey, it was wild!”

Ron launched into a fantastic story about the intense training he’d done that week: a weeklong stake-out and capture simulation as part of his Auror training. Harry and Ron had both been approached by Kingsley Shacklebolt himself to join the Auror program after the war.

“There are plenty of dark wizards who have so far evaded capture, and there will no doubt be many more who attempt to succeed where Voldemort failed,” Shacklebolt had told them. “It would be an honour to accept you both into the Auror program immediately.”

Ron had accepted without a second thought, and Harry was thrilled for him. However, Harry was more reluctant. He was exhausted, his bones weary at the thought of it.

“I’ve been told Hogwarts is offering those whose last year of education suffered during the war another chance at their N.E.W.T level classes. An ‘8th year’ if you will,” Shacklebolt continued, clapping his hand to Harry’s shoulder. “Perhaps you’d prefer to complete your N.E.W.T. exams before making your decision.”

And so, Harry returned to Hogwarts. While he had certainly crossed off History of Magic professor from his list, he hadn’t made much headway otherwise in deciding what he wanted to do.

“Oh, that’s wonderful Ron!” Hermione beamed and turned her face up to Harry expectantly. “Don’t you think, Harry?”

“Yeah mate, sounds like you’re having a blast,” Harry said, smiling at the gleeful shine in Ron’s eyes. Ron’s face quickly wilted.

“I wish you’d come along, mate. You and me against the world, you know? We would’ve made great partners. Not that Brocklehurst is bad but… she’s not you, Harry.”

Harry’s smile turned wry. He knew Ron desperately wanted Harry to come along too, but Harry just couldn’t stomach it.

“Blimey, look at me getting all sentimental and mopey,” Ron said, sliding back into an easy grin. “Tell me about what you guys have been doing. Is it as boring as ever?”

Hermione made a face at Ron and told him about her classes, sliding in a quick lecture or two about how what they were learning would’ve been useful to Ron as an Auror. After a while, Hermione placed her hand against the side of her mouth dramatically, as if telling a secret, and leaned in to whisper loudly at Ron.

“And Harry’s _still_ watching Malfoy.”

“Oi!” Harry squawked, looking around the empty room warily. “I have not!”

“Blimey mate, again? What’s he up to this time? Studying too hard?” Ron laughed. “Do you actually think he’s up to something?”

Whether it was the war or his Auror training, Ron had become uncharacteristically diplomatic about Malfoy. Gone were the days where even the mention of the blond’s name would send fury swirling into Ron’s eyes.

“I don’t think he’s up to anything,” Harry said truthfully. “I just… I don’t know.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

“Alright, mate. Just don’t get weird about it again,” Ron said. “People might start thinking things.”

“What kind of things?” Harry said, sounding somewhat more defensive than he intended. Hermione muffled a giggle.

“Oh, would you look at the time?” Ron said quickly. “Tell Ginny if she touches my new broom again, I’ll feed her to the gnomes. I’ll talk to you guys next week.”

With that, Ron was gone. Harry scowled down at Hermione, but she didn’t notice. Hermione stretched with a yawn, her back popping loudly as she stood.

“I’m off to bed,” she said.

“But we haven’t eaten dinner,” Harry pouted. He hated going to the dining hall on his own now. At least when he was with someone, he could ignore the awed stares and whispers that followed him.

“Mum sent me a care package yesterday. I’m going to eat that while I do some light study in bed,” Hermione said. She grabbed her bag and heaved it over her shoulder. _Light study, right._

Just then, Ernie Macmillan and Michael Corner entered the common room, arguing.

“Look, I just don’t understand how this Superman character could win in a fight against this Kogu character. You said he’s weak to some rock and the other guy just keeps getting stronger and stronger,” said Ernie.

“It’s ‘Goku’, firstly. Secondly—” Michael suddenly noticed Harry. “Harry, you’d know. Who’d win in a fight – Goku or Superman?” The two students stared at Harry expectantly. He honestly had no idea what a ‘Goku’ was.

“I don’t really know, guys,” Harry said, looking pleadingly at Hermione for help.

“Well, why don’t you boys all discuss it over dinner, hm?” She said. Harry glared at her. _Damn traitor._

The two boys flanked Harry and began dragging him to the Great Hall, continuing their argument as they went. Harry turned back, desperate to be anywhere else, and Hermione saw him off with a cheerful wave.

He was going to get her for this.


	2. Life Has Many Doors, Harry Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me if my writing style is all over the place (I see you, Anya, and I love you)

It was stupidly hot, the warmth before the storm had been building for hours, and Harry figured there was no better way to beat the heat than to fly around the Quidditch pitch during his free period. Hermione had half-heartedly tried to convince him to study with her in the library instead but gave up when Harry shook the sweat from his hair onto her.

More than anything, though, Harry needed to think. The knowing glances Hermione and Ron had shot between each other the day before when talking about Malfoy had confused him. They seemed to think something else was going on.

Harry was stumped. What else could be going on? Harry wasn’t even sure; how could they have a clue?

Harry dipped and dived, twirling and tumbling through the air lazily. He’d had some offers to become a professional Quidditch player too, but he’d passed on those. Harry was a great Quidditch player, but professional? Not quite. Ginny, however, had accepted a spot with the Holyhead Harpies.

_Ginny._ She waved at him from below, mounting her own broom to join him up in the air. They’d broken up not long after the war. It was completely mutual, but Harry sometimes wondered why it didn’t bother him more. She was the love of his life, he’d thought, but it all just kind of fizzled out.

“That was a pretty poor tumble, Harry. Something distracting you up here?” Ginny shouted, her words growing softer as she came closer. Her hair trailed behind her like a great orange flag, whipping in the wind.

“Just thinking about stuff, I guess,” Harry said, weaving his broom side-to-side aimlessly.

“Still haven’t figured out what you’re going to do after all this?”

Harry shook his head. “Haven’t the slightest.”

Ginny sighed loudly, making a quick loop around Harry with ease.

“You can’t do anything the easy way, can you Harry?” She shook her head and grinned at him.

“What, becoming an Auror is the easy way? Try telling Ron he has it easy.” Harry grinned back and glanced down at her broom. Or Ron’s broom, rather. “He’ll probably make you do some of his drills for taking that again, you won’t think it’s so easy after that.”

Ginny snorted, and they began flying around the pitch aimlessly. “What Ronnikins doesn’t know can’t hurt him,” she said haughtily. “Besides, this isn’t about my broom-nicking. You must have some idea what you want to do, huh? We’re all dying to know.”

Harry frowned, his nose scrunching. “I’ve thought about it a lot, but haven’t gotten anywhere,” he said.

Ginny twirled on her broom, her hair swirling behind her gracefully. “Well,” she began slowly. “We’re all meant to have a career talk with McGonagall later today. Why don’t you tag along to that? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

It wasn’t a bad idea, really. Some outside perspective might really help Harry at least narrow down his options.

“Yeah, I think I will,” Harry said, leading Ginny to the ground. She landed beside him and thwacked him on the back.

“There’s my Harry! Oh, I almost forgot,” Ginny said, brows furrowing. “I actually came out here to tell you that I’ve been… seeing a bit more of Luna lately.”

Harry raised a brow quizzically. “Yeah, you guys are friends, of course you have.” Ginny shook her head and her cheeks pinkened slightly.

“I mean in the… you know. Dating way,” she said. Harry’s brows shot towards his hairline. He wouldn’t have thought…

“I just thought you ought to know,” she said, shouldering her – Ron’s – broom. “Out of respect, you know?”

Harry wasn’t sure what to say.

“I’m not sure what to say,” Harry said, and Ginny’s face fell slightly. Harry quickly continued. “But I, uh, support you? I mean I’m not mad or anything I’m just surprised is all.”

Ginny smiled brightly, relief washing over her pretty features.

“Thanks, Harry. And you know I’ve got your back, too,” she said, giving him another thump.

“Always, Gin.”

They trekked back inside in good time, as the storm that was building broke out behind them. Ginny cast a quick Tempus.

“I have to go clean up, but you go on ahead. It’s in the Headmaster’s office, the password today is ‘Quill’.”

Ginny hurried down the hallway towards Gryffindor tower and Harry felt a pang in his chest. He missed the tower. He knew he could go anytime, but it wouldn’t feel the same. The other 8th years seemed to feel similarly, avoiding their respective common rooms in favour of the 8th year tower.

Harry sighed and began his journey to the Headmaster’s office. He didn’t have time for nostalgia and longing for the past, had to figure out what he wanted to do with himself in the future.

McGonagall had rearranged the Headmaster’s office so much it barely resembled Dumbledore’s. It was a relief, in a way. Harry had a lot of memories tied to that room.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall called. Harry stepped properly into the room. There was nobody else there, so he must be early. “To what do I owe the pleasure today?”

Harry lingered near the entrance.

“Ginny said you were having a career talk today, I was hoping to listen in,” Harry said. McGonagall laughed softly.

“Oh, no – that’s not for another hour,” she said, and Harry frowned. Ginny hadn’t given him the time for the career talk. “But come in, Mr. Potter. Have some tea and a biscuit and we’ll have a chat, you and me.”

“Oh I wouldn’t want to interrupt, Professor, I—”

“Sit, Mr. Potter.”

Harry sat dutifully. McGonagall poured him some tea and floated a plate of biscuits towards him.

“I hear you’re having trouble deciding what to do with your future,” she said. “The options can seem overwhelming, particularly for someone like yourself. Any ideas?”

“Not an Auror,” Harry said quickly. McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “I’m… tired of that stuff.”

“Yes, you’ve had quite your share of that.” McGonagall smiled sadly and sipped her tea. “You have quite a knack for Defence Against the Dark Arts, however.”

“I kind of had to,” Harry smiled wryly and fiddled with his biscuit. He wasn’t sure this talk was really going anywhere.

“I’ve heard great stories about your Dumbledore’s Army, Mr. Potter. The others tell me you were quite the inspiring teacher.”

Harry nodded.

“You might have noticed that I have yet to find a suitable candidate to fill our Defence Against the Dark Arts position here at Hogwarts, and have resorted to teaching it myself,” McGonagall continued. “People still think it’s cursed, you see. So, I’ve been looking for someone who isn’t afraid that the Dark Lord’s curse might still be lingering.”

McGonagall looked at him expectantly.

“You want me to be the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor here? At Hogwarts?” Harry said incredulously.

“You’d have to apprentice under me for two years, of course. And your N.E.W.T.s would have to be favourable,” McGonagall said. She paused, searching Harry’s face. “I think you should consider it carefully, Mr. Potter. I don’t make this offer lightly, though I understand it might not be a path you ever thought of taking.”

Harry sat back in his chair, running his hand through his hair. “No, I never thought of it,” he admitted. _Him? A professor?_ The image of Harry in billowing Snape-like robes filled his mind and he almost laughed before the sadness panged in his chest.

“Well, you’ve got a fair amount of time to consider it,” McGonagall said. “But you best be off Mr. Potter. You have plenty of studying to do if you wish to take my offer seriously.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Harry stood, vanishing the crumbs from his robe. McGonagall smiled, her eyes sparkling with something Harry couldn’t place.

“Whatever you choose, Mr. Potter, I’ll be proud of you.”

Harry ducked his head, his cheeks heating and his chest becoming warm.

“Thank you, Professor,” he repeated softly. McGonagall nodded, and Harry decided that was his cue to leave. He ran into Ginny on the way out, who grinned cheekily at him.

“So?” She said. Harry jabbed his elbow at her, which she dodged deftly.

“McGonagall offered me the Defence Against the Dark Arts position,” Harry said, and Ginny’s face lit up.

“Harry, that’s wonderful!” She gushed.

“Yeah, well, I need to think about it some more,” he said, and Ginny huffed and crossed her arms.

“Harry Potter, you do anymore thinking and your head will explode,” she said, poking him in the forehead. “What happened to rushing in head-on like a Gryffindor?”

“Maybe Hermione is finally rubbing off on me,” Harry shrugged.

“I won’t say that’s a _bad_ thing,” Ginny shook her head at him, turning to join her classmates. “But – “

“Ginny, come on!” a mousy blonde cried, grabbing Ginny’s arm. “I don’t want to sit next to Darcy, he still stinks from that Dungbomb.”

“I’ll see you later, Harry,” Ginny said, whispering quickly with the blonde girl and giggling.

Harry waved at her back and made his way back towards the 8th year tower. Hermione would have finished studying in the library for now and moved on to studying in the common room. He wasn't sure if he wanted to tell her about McGonagall's offer yet, but he was definitely going to ask how long Ginny and Luna had been a thing. Had it been long?

He bumped into Ernie Macmillan and Michael Corner on the stairs, deep in another argument about Muggle heroes, and he hoped that Hermione would come with him to dinner today.


End file.
